


The Brightest Star

by shyfoxes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, Character Study, Coran-centric, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Keith/Lance (Voltron), Parent-Child Relationship, Reminiscing, Speculation, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyfoxes/pseuds/shyfoxes
Summary: Coran helps Lance prepare for his wedding and recalls things he didn’t quite forget, but can’t help remembering.





	

 

Coran was more than surprised when Lance had come to him during the final weeks of the wedding as it was coming to a close, asking him to be there when he was set to get ready. 

Coran had asked him if it wasn’t his father’s duty to do such a thing. After all, he had spent so many years blasted off into space in the Blue Lion away from his family that his father should have been his first choice. Shiro an obvious second behind a long line of well loved relatives. 

Lance had smiled a little bashfully, rubbing his neck akin to Shiro in embarrassment. He had admitted that his father would help out initially. But it was Coran he had wanted to do the final touches, wanted to make sure his suit was crisp and wrinkle free, his tie perfect, and his nerves as in check as they could be.

Besides, Lance had said, Shiro was going to be busy helping to someone else.Who better than the true Space Uncle (and Sometimes Father) that had watched him grow and mature and help save the universe to do this one last mission?

Coran had agreed, all too eager, all too moved to tears. He had drawn Lance into a hug, tucking the boy’s head into his neck and rubbing the back of his hair as they both cried happily together.

 

-

 

It wasn’t a little known fact that Lance was Coran’s favorite paladin. 

But, it wasn’t like that at first. Lance’s abrasive, outgoing, cocky and flirty attitude was exasperating in and of itself. His frequent tries to obnoxiously win Allura’s affections had been grating. (As it later turned out, even his fleeting crush had been used as a cover-up for his  _ real _ affections for another).

It had taken Coran a little while before he’d realized that there was more underneath Lance’s exterior. Lance was, in fact, a very good actor, enough so that he often fooled himself. 

It was the truly genuine moments devoid of simulated pride (a thing Coran realized Lance was using to make up for the pride he had actually  _ lacked _ ) that Coran had decided that Lance was his favorite. 

His moments of genuine heroism, his caring and empathy, and his wonder were all endearing. Coran had seen Lance’s walls broken down during the party to celebrate Sendak’s supposed defeat with the Arusians. It was surprising at first to see someone so boastful and headstrong suddenly so small and unsure, wracked with a feeling that Coran only let himself feel after the lights in castleship were dimmed, Allura had finally retired to sleep, and his rounds about the castle (a habit, now) complete. 

The downturn of Lance’s shoulders, how he quietly retreated from the party, head hanging were all a dead giveaway. Even now, he was so strangely quiet even after loudly cheering with the Arusians not too long ago. Tucked away in the maps room, alone though he seemed like a soul who enjoyed company and excitement in numbers, Coran had happened upon Lance.

“Mind if I join you?” Coran had said. 

“How far away from Earth do you think we are, Coran?” Lance asked, almost hopeful, as if Earth would be right next door, an arm’s reach. 

He looked up him, brows raised like a child in wonderment. Coran pulled the map out with a wave of his fingers, making a sound as he considered it.   
  
“Let's take a look see,” Coran said.”Earth is over here. And we're aaaall... the way oveeeer…”    
  
Lance interrupted him. An unmistakeable sense of longing attached itself to his voice. “You ever notice how far the planets are from each other, Coran?”   
  
Coran, regardless, humored him, if only to preserve the boy’s pride a little at baring himself so wide open.

“Yes. Haven't you been paying attention?” Coran said, amused.   
  
Lance sighed through his nose. He looked out at the maps, at the stars and planets, galaxies and constellations dotting the room awash with blue. He let his fingers phase through one, biting his lip.

“Yeah, but I mean they're really, reeaaaally far away,” Lance said. Coran could sense he had been granted a moment of trust even in the short time they’d come to know each other.

“Like, say, Earth,” Lance suggested. “It's so far, I can't even see it!

Wistfully, he waved a hand, eyes glossed over as he recalled Earth.

“The blue oceans, the white clouds, green grass - I - I can't see any of it,” Lance said, eyes downcast. Coran could see him swallow heavily, head ducked down as he seemed to hold back his tears. Coran reached over, hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, hoping the warmth was felt even through the bulk of the paladin armor.   
  
Coran exhaled quietly himself, closing his eyes momentarily to compose himself. No use letting himself succumb to the emotions while the boy needed an ear. He was so young for this job, though not that much younger than Alfor when he took the throne, Coran realized. But still, it wouldn’t have done him any good to add anymore woes such as Coran’s mourning to his own list of problems.

“You miss Earth, I understand. I miss Altea,” Coran said, softly.    
  
Lance heaved a sigh, shoulders rising almost dramatically as he let the breath go. He shot a sidelong glance at Coran. He looked lost, conflicted. 

“I know we're supposed to be brave paladins and defenders of the universe or whatever,” Lance began. Coran waited for the ‘but’. There was always a but. “...But, honestly? I just want to go home.”

_ Ah _ , Coran thought.  _ I see.  _   
  
Coran grinned wryly to himself, a memory workings its way before his eyes. Under his hand where he was still holding Lance’s shoulders, his armor had morphed into a the sleeve of a soft shirt. If only the boy’s skin was just a shade darker, If only the bridge of his nose was freckled, and the blue markings of Altean males was bright under Lance’s eyes. 

“If I could go home, I would,” Coran said, wishfully.  _ If I could do many things, I would. _   
  
Lance leaned a little closer. His own son had been like that, always one for affection. Coran wondered if perhaps Lance was a youngest child, or a middle one, or one spoiled by his mother and loved unconditionally as devoted parents who were proud of their children were want to do. Like he had been with his own son. 

_ “Do I have to go away?” His son had asked. He ducked his head, staring at his feet, a slight tone of shame in his voice.“It’s so far from Altea. I will be homesick.” _

_ Coran’s eyes softened, resting a hand to his son’s head. He smoothed out the curls and cowlicks, only for them to spring back. The red of his hair, he took after Coran. But the curve of his nose, his dimples and brown skin were of his mother. His son sniffled, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand. _

_ “There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Coran said. “Or afraid of! Altea is strong, it will always be here. But there is still so much you can learn out there, so much to see.” _

_ His son looked up at him. His eyes were wet, and his mouth slightly parted. Coran patted his head again. _

_ “You’ve heard all my tales traveling with King Alfor, haven’t you? How long have you dreamt of seeing a weblum with your own eyes? Or the oldest kinetic spring in the Galician Galaxy?” Coran continued. “You are the son of Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe! You are destined for great things. Don’t let a little homesickness keep you from adventures!” _

_ When his son suddenly burst out into more tears, sobbing loudly and leaning into his hand, Coran felt panic rise in him. He asked his son what was wrong, only to have him sniffle and shake his head. _

_ “But I’ll miss you, dad,” His son said. “I’ll miss you and mom, and what if my little sister is born before I come back?” _

_ Coran drew his son into a hug, rattling him playfully. His son was very hopeful for a little sister. He had said as much the moment he and his mother had announced that another little one would be joining their family. Technology existed to accurately predict what the child may be, with barely a one thousandth percent of error. But for the sake of surprise, he and his wife and had chosen not to. _

_ Coran wiped a stray tear away with his own hand. _

_ “We will miss you, too, son. But we know you’ll come back. Even your sister - or brother! We will be here when you return, I promise.” _

_ His son wiped his eyes again, even as a few more leaked through. He smiled despite this, looking up at his father from where he was only at shoulder height with him. In a few months, he might even be taller than Coran. He patted his shoulder loudly, loudly sniffling, mustache flaring with it. His son laughed. Coran knew he would be fine. _

Then Lance had sprung into action faster than Coran could probably comprehend. He had lagged but a mere second before he was yelling his name, shoving Coran out of the way. Taking the brunt of an explosion with his body. If not for the paladin armor, then maybe he would have been worse off.

All Coran could see as Shiro cradled Lance in his hands, was the way Lance didn’t move. The way the only thing indicating that Lance was still there with them was the faint groaning he emitted, still unconscious and a cut of slow oozing blood on his forehead. Even his armor had suffered, chipped at the shoulders, at the back. Coran felt as if he was underwater, ears blocked. He swallowed. Coran was glad for Pidge and Keith’s voice jumping in, prompting him to snap out of his trance. 

“We need to get a new crystal to get the castle working again,” Coran added in.

He gritted his teeth. The boy was not dying on his watch. Not after everything, and not when he was so desperately needed. It was too early for Lance to die a hero’s death, so young, so still full of life and longing. 

“I can use the scanner on the pod to see if there’s a Balmera near by. Hunk, come with me, I’ll need your strength.”

It should have been unsurprising, but the Balmera had been infested with Galra. The gentle giant of a planet, so giving, was being tortured and abused, the poor Balmerans colonized to harvest crystals. It hurt Coran’s heart. 

And to think, he had been so glad when he and Hunk had flown across its surface. If only he could have had both Lance and Hunk here, bunched together on the seat, maybe with their faces pressed against the glass of the pod -

_ “What is that!” His son yelled. “Dad, what is that!” _

_ “A Balmera,” Coran said proudly, rubbing his fingers against his jacket as one does when their child looks at them as if they can catch any moon and tell their child how. “An ancient petrified creature! They create the crystals you see before you.” _

_ His son twisted around in his seat belt, cheek pressed against the glass as his breath fogged it up. He made an awed sound as they flew through giant crystal walls. Below them, a few Balmerans looked up, smiling and waving at them. His son waved back. _

_ “Are those the crystals that power the castleship? The one Great-Grandfather made?” His son asked, looking over at him. His eyes sparkled. _

_ “The very same!” Coran chirped. _

It was a relief in some ways that when Lance had come from the healing pod, he could still muster enough bravado to “hit on Allura” as Pidge and Keith had taught him. A part of him wanted to be irritated, having grown up as a second father to the princess. Another part was amused, if only that the boy could downplay his injuries after coming from the pod.

It didn’t escape Coran all of the half-glances Keith afforded Lance, or how close he sat at the dining table. Or how outraged he was when Lance had rejected his affections. Coran tilted his head, either way, watching Lance and seeing how exaggerated he behaved. Even has he riled Keith up, he was stealing glances at him when the other boy was turning away in indignation. 

Coran wanted to chuckle. Perhaps he was overthinking things, he supposed, but Coran was curious as to how the two of them may progress. 

_ “I can’t understand it!” His son had cried. “No matter what I do! No matter how hard I work, he always outdoes me.” _

_ His son slumped across the sofa, lower lip jutted out and glaring at the opposite wall. Coran shook his head. He made his way to the sofa, two cups of tea in hand. He kneeled down, pushing his son’s legs back to make room to sit down himself. His son grumbled and buried his face into a cushion. _

_ “There is more to this, I’m sure,” Coran said knowingly.  _

_ His son mumbled something against the cushion. Coran chuckled, setting his cup down on the floor before him. A few ticks passed before his son looked out from the cushion at him. His freckles were framed red with the tell-tales signs of a blush. _

_ “....I maybe really admire him,” His son said. “Maybe,  _ a lot _ admire him.” _

_ Coran patted his back. He crossed his leg and made to take a sip of his drink. He shot his son an amused look, watching as his son ducked and reached for his own cup. He gulped it down too quickly, burning his mouth. Coran laughed. _

_ “I don’t get it. Sometimes I just - feel so jealous. I work so hard and everything comes so easily to him,” His son admitted. _

_ “But other times, it’s like I can’t look away. Like - if I look away, something amazing I know he’ll do will miss me. He draws me in like that, dad.” _

_ “I understand,” Coran said, nodding. He had. He had felt so for Alfor, for a Galran general, for his wife. For many other people.  _

_ “There’s a word for that you know, son,” Coran said. “It’s love.” _

_ His son suddenly shrieked, nearly dropping his cup. He sputtered wildly. He sat up, trying to explain himself, trying to deny the feeling. Red-faced, mouth running faster than any yelllmor. Coran truly did laugh then, only to be reprimanded by his son in embarrassment. _

_ His son hushed, cradling the cup between his hands. He bit his lip as he contemplated. _

_ “Say you are right - and you aren’t! But - but say you are...how do I get him to notice me?” His son asked. _

_ Coran knocked their cups together. “How do you know he hasn’t already?” _

_ His son frowned. “Why would he? There’s no reason to.” _

_ Coran wanted to vehemently deny his son’s claims. How dare he think so lowly of himself? A son of Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe should never think such a thing! But he also sensed that going that route may not be the wisest. Instead, he pretended to contemplate a great conundrum, finger tapping his chin as he recalled all he knew of the two. _

_ “Well, if I remember correctly, son, there is no one else he quite likes to challenge except you?” Coran began. “There is no one else he seems to be excited to face, eager to see, and willing to work with.” _

_ He smiled softly, reassuringly. “I think you’re selling yourself short. Perhaps you are too clouded to see what is truly in front of you.” _

_ His son’s eyes widened. A grin broke out on his face. He ducked his head to smile secretly down at his tea. _

_ “Maybe?” His son said, his smile wistful. “I - I hope so.” _

Allura was taken by the Galra, rescued, and then the wormhole that was supposed to bring them all safely home collapsed. All Coran could think was  _ not again, not again, not again, not again _ over and over as the castleship catapulted through the collapsing wormhole.

The ordeal of being separated was much more than Coran had anticipated. He had lost everything so suddenly. It seemed to be a recurring theme, he mused almost bitterly. One moment he could be holding his wife’s hand, watching as his daughter, only a scant few years older than Allura, reached for the Princess as she learned to walk, as his son announced that he was engaged. Even Altea, bright, shining Altea was not an exception. All of that could go so suddenly. Just as the Allura had when they infiltrated the Space Base. Just as the Paladins had when the wormhole was corrupted.

He had embraced each of them. He had taken Pidge into his arms and said a warm, relieved, “Welcome back, Number Five. We would be lost without you.” Pidge had pushed her glasses up, her usual toothy grin in place. 

He had pulled Hunk into a tight hug, lifting the boy off of his feet, and ruffled Lance’s hair. “Welcome home, Lance, Hunk. The team isn’t the same without you two” Both boys beamed before clapping Coran on his shoulders as well. 

With Keith and Shiro it had been more urgent. But he had taken Keith by the shoulder, looked at him solemnly, hoping he conveyed some strength to keep the boy calm. “Keith, it’s good to have you back home.”. Keith had smiled despite himself, quietly thanking him. 

Coran had also relieved Keith of Shiro’s weight, hooking the Black Paladin’s arm around his shoulder, patting his side.

“Welcome home, Shiro,” Coran had said, lowly. Behind them, Allura and the younger paladins trailed behind anxiously.

Shiro laughed, breathy and slightly pained. “I’m home,” He said, with an amused huff. 

Perhaps Coran’s favoritism made itself known from there on out. He had allowed Lance to ride “shotgun” as the Earthlings called it. He had spent countless hours between missions teaching Lance little things from Altea. Whether it be little words, a letter a day from their alphabet, and even a popular dance that Lance had said resembled what he had back home as a “waltz”. He listened to tales of Earth, of the boy’s turmoils and fear, of his blooming feelings and the confusion that came with it.

Everyone was exhausted. Zarkon was always on the horizon. Coran had to watch Keith slowly collapsing in on himself in the quietest ways he’d have probably expected more from Lance. It had struck him as so subtle it was terrifying. 

He had also watched Keith struggle with the knowledge of his heritage, of who he thought he was. Of Allura fighting with herself, caught between the love she developed for her paladins, her new family, the hurt and loss of Altea and her people, and the treachery of the Galra. It stressed the whole team, made everything difficult. 

In the quiet of the night cycles, Coran made sure that while Shiro was  _ finally _ succumbing to exhaustion (but not exactly resting), he was there to rest a caring hand to Keith’s shoulder, to Hunk’s, or Pidge’s, or Lance’s. He told him he was who he chose to be, and that fighting to do better, be better, and reject what the Galra had done was a step in the right direction. 

Allura still hadn’t mourned, he reminded. She needed time, she needed to heal, and there was little time for that when war was always on the horizon.

He sat with Allura, as well. Just as he always had, just as he always would. 

Several years had passed since then. Since Shiro had disappeared and Allura had accepted Keith’s suggestion to bypass Shiro’s request and asked that Allura lead in his stead. Then towards their family made whole again. 

The younger paladins had grown so much. They had matured, been scared, and parts of them had changed in ways he wished they could have preserved. Such was war, Coran supposed. 

So much more had remained, and so much more had been gained. Their family had grown at the true end of the war, and Coran anticipated that it would continue to do so.

Like now.

Lance fidgeted, pulling at the lapels of his suit anxiously. He looked at the mirrors in the room, turning and frowning. 

It had taken all of two hours to dress Lance. He had taken the entirety of the week just getting his skin in order. Lance had cried during the third day that he was breaking out (likely due to stress), but nary a mark had appeared. It wasn’t until Keith had promised to kiss each blemish that Lance had stopped fussing. 

From then, he had gotten up nearly at the crack of dawn, brimming with adrenaline on the wedding day.

Lance’s father had helped him put on his suit. His sister’s had helped him with a smide of makeup. His mother had come to fuss and do his hair, kiss him and hold each other as they cried. Hunk and Pidge had given him his “something borrowed, something blue, old and new” and what else Earth superstition nonsense. 

Though it should be noted that after the team had found a planet growing juniberries in abundance, Coran had made sure that Lance would wear one on his suit the day of his wedding. 

Perhaps Coran had a bit of superstition in him, too.

Lance had held off tying his bowtie. He had given Coran that honor. Coran had settled the juniberry in Lance’s breast pocket, patting it thrice to ensure that it would surely bring good luck. 

Still, Coran could tell that Lance was not pleased. He saw it in the way he fidgeted, glancing back constantly at his reflection. 

Lance bit his lip. He raised his hand so that his sleeve slipped down just a bit. Around his wrist was a bracelet, a melted down piece of Keith’s blade after it had been shattered. Keith had kept a piece of it and turned it into a bracelet for Lance when he had proposed. 

Lance pulled at his bowtie, making a distressed sound as he messed up the whole thing. Coran could see he was on the verge of tears. He tutted the boy and batted his hands away.

“Honestly, after all you’ve seen and done, my boy, going up and saying “I do” shouldn’t be nearly so tough,” Coran said. 

“Yes it is!” Lance exclaimed. “I’m not just saying ‘I do’, Coran. I’m agreeing to spend the rest of my life with Keith. Waking up to him, kissing him, telling him I love him. What if I’m all wrong for him? What if we don’t last?”

So little had truly changed, Coran thought wryly. Still so young and insecure, this one. Coran shook his head with a brief laugh. He dusted off imaginary dust from Lance’s shoulders. He straightened his lapels and the awards he received not only from the Earth forces, but Allura, and the numerous alliances that had risen to rebel against Zarkon. A matching set could be found on each paladin. He smoothed down Lance’s hair as best as he could. 

For all his teasing and jabs, Lance had ended up growing out his so called “mullet” that Keith had had in their early years. 

He cupped the boy’s face between his own hands, scrunching them together affectionately. Lance snorted then grinned, sheepish. Coran took him by the shoulders, afterwards.

“You will, dear boy. You’ve both faced so much together, with our family. A simple, happy life will be boring but nothing you can’t handle,” Coran said. 

“If I do recall, you were the first to confess your feelings to Keith right in front of the whole Rebellion Alliance. Surely you won’t let Keith outwit you, boy!”

“What? No, no, no, no, no, nope, never!” Lance sputtered. “He’s going  _ down _ ! I’m going to be saying the best vows in the galaxy!”

Coran’s mustache crinkled into a smarmy grin. Lance snorted a laugh, rubbing his nose as a smug smile passed over him. He looked to the mirror and nodded. Lance held out his arms then let them fall back to his side, a loud slap resounding. 

With a big sigh, Lance said, “Soooo, how do I look?”

_ His son blew out a big wave of air. He still pulled at the sash his mother had helped him tie around his shoulder and waist. The juniberry weaved necklaces were wrapped around him like ropes. His son looked handsome in gold and white, the king’s colors. Funny, considering the wedding suit was a gift from Alfor himself.  _

_ Coran could feel himself choking up the longer he looked at his son. His red hair had been pulled back into a small ponytail. A flush of excitement painted his dark skin.  _

_ His son nodded at the mirror before he turned to face Coran. _

_ “How am I looking dad?” His son asked. “Ready to get married?” _

_ Coran barely choked back a sob as he cupped his son’s cheek, running a thumb over his blue marks, smoothed down his hair again, and smiled too large to fight. A fresh set of tears made its way to his eyes. _

_ “More than ready, son. More than ready,” He said. “We can’t keep your husband-to-be waiting now, can we?” _

_ His son grinned. “No, we can’t.” _

_ Before Coran had gone through the doorway, his son touched his arm to get his attention.  _

_ “Dad,” His son said. “Thanks for everything.” _

Lance looked up at Coran as the older man drew his hands away to dab at the corner of his eyes. Lance breathed a small laugh. He reached back to play with the ends of his hair. 

“Hey, Coran,” Lance started. “You know, I don’t think I really said it properly but - thanks for everything. Thanks for always being there for me. Thanks for - for being like my second dad. I’ve always appreciated it.”

Coran patted him on the back, ushering him out towards the aisle where Allura was meant to walk him down towards Keith. “I know, son,” Coran said simply. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All this from me randomly thinking “What if when Coran is helping Lance get ready for his wedding he just suddenly had flashbacks of his son’s wedding. But Altea and his whole family are dead so -” Then I messaged @warmybones and here we are.
> 
> I’m also practicing my angst writing because I’m very weak with it at the moment. Tell me how it is, how I can improve please?
> 
> It’s more Coran focused, but i honestly think Lance is Coran’s favorite and the closest to what would be like a son to him. Hunk being second. That being said, Lance is Coran’s favorite, I like to believe Hunk is Allura’s favorite, and Pidge and Keith are tied for Shiro’s favorite.
> 
> Hints at Keith stressing and getting depressed over his heritage are there because I just really wanted him to be cut up about it and a whole lot of other things i’ve totally obsessed over ranting over on my twitter LOL. In case there was any confusion.
> 
> Also, the whole exchange between Coran and Shiro is based on the translations the Japanese greetings of “Okaeri おかえり and Tadaima ただいま ”, or “Welcome home and I’m home”. That’s why Shiro is kind of amused.
> 
> There’s gonna be more platonic fics coming soon as well as other things! Especially a Lance angst fic heh heeeeh.


End file.
